Asoiaf: I Have a Wolverine Template

Chapter 29: The Dragon Dreams

…

Rhaegar POV

I stood before the Iron Throne, the jagged swords twisted into the seat of power that I knew would one day be mine. Each blade glinted menacingly in the flickering torchlight.

The throne loomed high above, its cold, sharp edges glinting ominously in the dim light of the hall. Everything was bathed in darkness, the once-grand chamber now shrouded in an eerie, oppressive aura.

The air felt heavy, thick with the scent of blood and iron. I slowly lifted my gaze, following the winding stairs that led to the top—where the king should sit. 

My heart pounded as my eyes settled on the figure slumped on the throne. 

King Aerys, my father.

His body lay sprawled beneath the shadow of the throne, lifeless. Three deep, savage claw marks tore across his chest, rending flesh and fabric alike. His entrails spilled from his stomach, staining the throne in a grotesque display of violence.

A man, cloaked in darkness, descended the steps of the Iron Throne, his boots echoing ominously against the cold stone. 

His face was hidden beneath the heavy fabric of his hood, casting deep shadows where his features should have been. 

He seemed more specter than man, his presence thick with malice and foreboding.

He stopped at the base of the throne, his presence heavy, shadowed in the dim light. Slowly, he raised a gloved hand, his finger pointing directly at me.

"Your fate will be the same as your father's," the figure rasped, his voice low but powerful, filling the hall with an unsettling weight. "You're destined to die, destined to be damned."

A cold fear gripped me, crawling down my spine like icy fingers. My hands shook, but I swallowed the terror and forced my voice to rise, trying to sound brave even though my heart was racing.

"Who… who are you?" I yelled, though the fear cracked my voice.

The hooded figure tilted his head, as if amused by my question. "Who am I?" he repeated, his voice low and mocking.

"I am he whom the old, sick, and dead fear. I collect the dead—king, queen, prince, princess, noble, merchant, smallfolk. Whomever you may be," his tone darkened, sharp as a blade, "I collect all of you."

He paused, his next words dropping like stones into the still air.

"I am the Stranger."

The name hung between us, heavy with meaning, as his words echoed in my mind. The Stranger—one of the seven faces of the gods, the bringer of death and the unknown. 

My heart pounded in my chest, but I couldn't shake his final words.

"What do you mean my fate is the same as my father's?" I screamed, my voice cracking as panic set in.

The Stranger chuckled darkly, the sound filling the hall like an echo from the abyss.

"Why are you laughing?" I shouted again, this time fear tightening my throat.

Suddenly, I felt something wet beneath me. I looked down, and to my horror, blood began to rise from the floor, flooding the room as though a dam had broken. 

Hands—pale, cold, and wet—emerged from the blood, grasping at my legs, pulling me down. I kicked and thrashed, striking at the hands as they clawed at my body, dragging me deeper into the floor.

"No! Please, no!" I begged, my voice hoarse from terror. "Tell me—how do I change my fate?"

The Stranger's laugh faded into silence, and then he spoke, his voice cold and final.

"When the newborn cub is born, and the lion begins their feast, a knight will appear. Find him, and you may change your fate."

"What does that mean?!" I screamed, my desperation reaching its peak.

The Stranger vanished into a cloud of dark smoke, leaving only his ominous words echoing in my mind. The hands below me tightened their grip, yanking me down into the rising tide of blood.

I gasped for air, but the thick, crimson liquid surged over my head, filling my lungs. My screams were lost in the gurgling depths, and no matter how I thrashed, the hands dragged me deeper.

I kicked and clawed, but it was useless. The blood pressed in on all sides, suffocating me, drowning me. The weight of it crushed my chest, and my vision began to darken as the last of the air escaped my body.

…

Ser Barristan Selmy POV 

I stood at the entrance of the tent where Prince Rhaegar Targaryen slept, my eyes scanning the horizon as dawn broke over the camp.

The morning light painted the sky in warm shades of orange and gold, casting long shadows that stretched across the ground. 

I had just taken over from Ser Arthur Dayne, the newest member of the Kingsguard, who had kept watch through the night.

Inside the tent, I could hear the soft rustle of fabric, a sign that Rhaegar was waking. But moments later, a scream pierced the morning air.

I immediately rushed into the tent.

Inside, I found Prince Rhaegar thrashing on his bed. His silver Targaryen hair clung to his pale face, now slick with sweat. It was a sight I had grown accustomed to; he had been plagued by nightmares for moons now.

"Prince Rhaegar, wake up! Wake up!" I shook him gently, but he remained trapped in his restless dreams.

Just then, the flap of the tent was pulled back. My fellow kingsguard, Prince Lewyn Martell and Ser Arthur Dayne entered, both Dornish, their skin tones reflecting the sun-kissed lands of Dorne. 

Arthur had a slightly lighter complexion and striking purple eyes—distinctive features of House Dayne.

"How is the prince?" Lewyn asked, crouching down to examine Rhaegar, his brow furrowed in worry as he scanned the prince's face for signs of distress.

"He's fine, but he's not waking," I replied, my voice tinged with anxiety as I met Lewyn's gaze. I knew how important it was for Rhaegar to find peace, and each nightmare only deepened my concern.

"Arthur, grab a wet cloth," Lewyn ordered, his tone leaving no room for hesitation. 

Arthur quickly dipped a cloth into a bowl of water and handed it to me, the coolness contrasting sharply with the warmth of the tent.

I took the cool cloth and began dabbing it on Rhaegar's forehead, hoping to bring him back to reality. The fabric clung to his skin, and I could feel the tension in the air as we all waited for him to respond.

Suddenly, Rhaegar sat up with a piercing scream, "Aggghhhhh!!!"

We all jumped back, startled by his outburst, the sound echoing in the small space like a warning bell.

"Calm down, my prince, calm down," I said, patting his back to soothe him. I felt the tension in my own muscles release slightly as he began to breathe more evenly, his panic slowly dissipating.

He took deep breaths, his pale eyes finally focusing on me, and asked seriously, "How long until we reach Lannisport?"

"Five more days' ride on the Gold Road, my prince," I responded, trying to keep my tone steady as I met his gaze, hoping to ground him in the present.

Rhaegar swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, shaking off the remnants of his nightmare. He gestured for us to give him space, his demeanor shifting from vulnerable to resolute.

"When does the tourney start?" he asked, his expression serious and determined.

"Nine days, my prince," Lewyn replied, his voice steady as he took a step closer, eager to support Rhaegar in whatever decisions he would make next.

Rhaegar fell silent for a moment, deep in thought, his brow furrowing as he considered the implications of our journey ahead. 

Finally, he declared, "Gather the men after breakfast. I want us to ride for Casterly Rock. We need to get there as soon as possible."

"Yes my prince." We all said with a nod.

He had dismissed us and we were now outside the tent.

"Do you think the Prince will get better?" Arthur Dayne asked, concern etched on his face. I shared his worry, the same thought swirling in my mind.

"We can only hope that it's just a nightmare," I replied, trying to sound calm despite the unease settling in my chest. The prince's suffering was not something I took lightly.

"Both of you, get the men ready after breakfast. We move out," I instructed, my voice steady. They nodded in agreement and departed to speak with the other knights in our group, all sworn to protect the prince.

Once they were gone, I let out a long sigh, the weight of my anxiety pressing heavily on my shoulders. I couldn't shake the feeling that something deeper troubled Rhaegar. 

His nightmares had started three moons ago, and although he never confided in anyone, I could see the fear in his eyes—a look that was both haunting and helpless.

At least when the tourney in Lannisport had been announced, a flicker of excitement had ignited within him. 

He had been relentless in his pleas to King Aerys, his enthusiasm almost childlike as he begged for permission to attend. 

The king, tired of Rhaegar's whining, had relented, allowing him to go with a wave of his hand.

He had sent me, Lewyn, Arthur, and fifty other knights to escort the prince, some of us even slated to participate in the tournament. 

I hoped the thrill of the upcoming events would bring Rhaegar some peace, but a nagging doubt remained. Would the joy of the tourney be enough to overshadow the darkness lurking in his mind?

I sighed "only time will tell."